Page 87 of The Devils They Are

"Spencer," she greets coolly with a sharp nod.

"And you are?" I question politely.Good sportsmanship and all.

"Tamara Hamilton."

I nod, acknowledging her. "Ready?"

The two of us circle, waiting for the buzzer to kick us off. I've got my hair tied back in Dutch braids, while her brown hair is poised in a tight bun. Thankfully, she doesn't seem like the type to pull hair. Some opponents fight dirty, but she doesn't give that impression. Her glance is sharp, cool, and calculated—trying to get a read on me as much as I'm doing to her.

Excellent. A worthy opponent for once.

Neither of us move or strike when the signal to begin rings out. Our footsteps match perfectly, circling and sizing the other up. I try to focus on her movements to gauge and anticipate what's to come, but she hides it well.

I sense the watching eyes grow restless, the need for blood spurring on loud taunts and gestures. Finally, we collide in the middle of the cage, a flurry of hands and limbs striking. I manage to get a hook into her jaw at the same time as her fist hits my rib cage.

We don't come up for air, intensity only increasing as we exchange blow after blow. Blood trickles down my face from a cut above my brow. Wiping it away quickly, I land a kick to her outer thigh, pain ricocheting up my foot and calf from her firm muscles. Jesus—what are her legs made out of? Bricks?

Despite the pain in my foot, Tamara didn't walk away from the move freely either. She stumbles slightly, rocking the pressure to her other leg for a second. Then, she's back on me again, foot flying forward and connecting with my left quad.

Her aim is perfection. She's definitely had training or some type of martial arts background because the force sends me to the ground.

I know I need to move quickly, and I manage to roll onto my side as she jumps on top of me. I throw my hands up to protect my head as her blows rain down onto my skull. Spots are quickly appearing in my eyes, my surroundings shaking as I try to focus.

I'm not going down like this. I can't.

My shoulder nearly dislocates as I swing it up, curling around the back of her neck in a lame attempt to get her into a reverse choke hold. The move forces her weight into my side more and I try to bring my knee up, but she has them pinned down. My arm screams in pain but I swallow it back, tightening my hold around her neck until she has to roll off me to alleviate some of the pressure. I only have a few seconds to roll away, springing to my feet just as her body crash tackles into me.

The crowd behind us groans as we slam into the cage wall, the metal branding my back as I grip her shoulders to try to get her off me. A knee comes up, catching me in the lower stomach and a sickening feeling washes over me as I hunch over involuntarily.

Using the opportunity, Tamara throws a sharp jab at my face. My cheek explodes in pain as her knuckles bruise the skin.

My vision starts to swim. I know I'm in danger, and I'm suddenly faced with the realization that I'm outmatched. Maybe on a better day I'd have a chance, but even I can tell I'm lacking tonight.

Her fists pummel down on my head and I attempt to block them, waiting for either my body or mind to give out. But she pulls back to my surprise, grabbing my wrist and using it to fling me to the ground again.

Before I can contemplate her strategy, my stomach is flat against the ground, shoulder yanked back as she presses a knee into my lower back. Shit—she's trying to make me tap out. That's even worse. A knock-out is the ultimate prize normally, but against me? She's trying to make me give up.

It feels like the cage is shaking as people scream from both sides. Pain bursts through my body as I once again feel my shoulder threatening to dislocate.

Everything in my body and mind beg to make it stop, but I clench my teeth, fighting back the waves of agony. Squirming beneath her, I pathetically try to throw her weight off me but it's futile.

Her warm breath tickles my ear, surprising me. "Just tap out, Spencer. I don't want to hurt you."

Her tone startles me. There's nothing mocking or sinister about it—she's genuinely begging me to end this. We both know that I don't have a chance in hell at recovering, but my pride fights back, refusing.

Shaking my head, it's all I can give her. My jaw is locked, teeth nearly snapping as I clench hard in pain. She lets out a hiss, pulling my arm further behind my back. "Please—just tap out." Fresh pain rips through my body, my vision finally giving out as white light blocks everything out.

I'm on the verge of passing out, every fiber screaming, begging, pleading to end this. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I weigh up my options. I either tap out and admit defeat, walking out with my head held high. Or I black out, escaping the pain for a short while and lose my dignity.

And suddenly, realizing what both will do to my reputation, my shaking hand slides forward, gently tapping the ground three times.

Immediately, Tamara lets go, rolling off my body. Even without my arm being pulled back or her weight into my spine, I'm still in a world of pain. Except now, I also have to face the reality that I just lost.

It's a new feeling, and I fucking hate it.

A shadow rolls over my face, and I brave a glance toward it, seeing her concerned frown. Slowly, I push myself up, ignoring how my legs threaten to buckle.

She offers me a hand which I take, letting her help me.

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